The Potter Family
by Suzie's Q
Summary: Sirius never felt he belonged anywhere.


Obviously I don't own any of this.

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**The Potter Family  
**Summary: Sirius never felt he belonged anywhere.  
Characters: James, Sirius and Mama Potter  
Word Count: 1,403  
Rating: K

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Mrs. Potter is nothing like his own Mum. Mrs. Potter ushered him in out of the cold night – it was very late, but she didn't reprimand him or scold him – and gave him a cup of tea. She told him that James had already gone to bed. She had looked at him with kindness and understanding when he'd blinked up at her, still shivering slightly, and asked if he could stay the night.

She lets him stay. He supposed that was the real difference. If it had been the other way around, Sirius' mum would _never _have let James stay over. James had only been inside his bedroom – his _old _bedroom – once.

Mrs. Potter checks on him at least a half an hour, and doesn't raise a single issue when one night turns into two, two nights turns into three, three into a whole seven days. He's been there for around a week when Sirius nervously and reluctantly prods James for information about how long he can stay. James frowns at him as he pushes his glasses further up his nose.

"What are you talking about?" he demands. "You're not going _back, _are you?"

"Well, no," Sirius says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "But I can't stay here forever."

"Who told you that?" James asks, throwing him a look that is half-quizzical, and half-"get-over-yourself-mate-you're-staying".

"Well, I just thought..."

James lets out an exasperated huff and gets to his feet, motioning for Sirius to follow him. "Mum," he calls, and Sirius feels the familiar pang of jealousy at his tone, at their relationship, at all of it. But it's quickly followed by relief. He doesn't have to deal with his parents anymore. He's safe here. He doesn't know if he's loved here, but he's better off.

"Mum, P – Sirius thinks he's leaving," James announces as he enters the kitchen, Sirius in tow. Mrs. Potter is sitting at the kitchen table, her reading glasses perched on her nose. She looks up, bewildered.

"What's all this?"

"Would you _please _tell him he doesn't have to go?" says James, making a show out of rolling his eyes. Mrs. Potter is suddenly on her feet.

"Oh, darling, of course not," she tells them, as if it should be obvious. Her eyes are on Sirius, and full of pity. "You could never overstay your welcome here."

Sirius doesn't really know what to say. Mrs. Potter places her hands on his shoulders and smiles at him. "This is your home now, okay? You can stay as long as you like."

He stares at her, and this time, even if he _did _know what to say, he wouldn't have been able to get a word out.

Mrs. Potter continues. "You're family, Sirius, you know that. You're as good as my son, anyway." Over her shoulder, James grins brilliantly, and Sirius doesn't know how to feel for a moment or two. Suddenly the tight feeling in his chest loosens and he feels a rush of affection for Mrs. Potter, the way a boy should have affection for his own mother.

"You can even call me Mum if you like," she adds cheerfully, and she laughs, and she looks a lot like James, and it's such a James thing to do, make a joke after a serious conversation to break all that tension, that Sirius can't help but laugh.

When Mrs. Potter wraps her arms around him and pulls him into a hug, patting his shoulder, it's something he's not familiar with at all. He frowns into her shoulder – bless her, she's so much smaller than they are by now – and murmurs a hasty, awkward thank you.

She smiles and pats his cheek. "James has been asking for a brother from the moment he learnt how to speak," she says conversationally as she sits back down. "It's about time he got one."

They give him his own room – one of the biggest in his house – and smirking in the same way her son does, Mrs. Potter tells him to decorate it any way he likes. He suspects James has told her how he decorated his room back at Grimmauld Place. They buy him clothes – "You can't go around in those old rags, my dear boy, I won't allow it!" – and treat him with more love and kindness than he has ever known.

Mrs. Potter doesn't yell or shriek when James and Sirius come home from a secondhand Muggle shop with an old record player, and a motorbike. She just laughs, and fishes out some old records that she used to listen to, and they listen to them while they fix up the bike.

She doesn't even scream at them when the ingenious idea strikes to make the motorcycle fly. She just eyes them a little sceptically. Maybe she doubts they can do it. When they manage it, she just folds her arms and tells them to make sure they wear helmets, because she is _not _writing "Death by flying motorcycle" on their graves.

Sirius tries to feel like he belongs, but he doesn't quite manage it. It's hard – he's spent sixteen years being treated one way, and then barges into a family who've always been together and have the closest relationship Sirius has ever seen. It's understandable that he feels a bit like an outcast, though he is eternally grateful for the Potters' generosity. But that's what it feels like. Generosity. Charity. He feels like a guest in the house, staring up at the ceiling when he's meant to be asleep, in the clothes in the bed in the room, all that they've given him.

Until.

There comes a day near the end of summer, and James has been talking about it non-stop. He's going with his father to see the Quidditch League Final. Sirius has been quiet anytime it's brought up, because he doesn't want to ruin James' excitement. His father takes him every year, and this year is no different.

So Sirius doesn't say anything, and when he hears James get up at the crack of dawn across the hall, he stares at the ceiling – which is thankfully familiar by now – and tells himself that he is asleep, that he's not missing out on anything.

An hour later, Mrs. Potter approaches his room and pops her head around the door. "Sirius! Come on, what have you been doing?" she demands, once she sees him still in bed. "They're waiting for you!"

He blinks at her in surprise, but she's already pulling him out of the bed by his ear. "You know if James is late, we'll never hear the end of it. Hurry up!"

The feeling that's unfurling in his chest – it's…happiness. Pure joy. He scrambles into his clothes, and the leather jacket that he wrestled away from Mrs. Potter before she could throw it out ("The thing is in tatters, Sirius!") and hurries downstairs. James shoves a slice of toast in his mouth.

"Come on, we're going to be late and it's going to be your fault."

"Oh Sirius," Mrs. Potter starts. "You can't wear that, it's still summer, you'll collapse from heat!"

Sirius just grins at her and welcomes her caring, warm comments (even though she's nagging him) with a hug. They leave, and Mrs. Potter calls them her boys as they do. Her boys, all three of them. (Although Mr. Potter is far beyond boyhood at this stage.)

"Did you think you weren't coming or something?" James asks, nudging his elbow with a smirk.

Sirius grins but says nothing. They arrive home very late that night, and Mrs. Potter has a cup of tea and French toast waiting for them. They sit around the kitchen table and discuss the match, and the two boys show Mrs. Potter the merchandise they'd bought. Mr. Potter had spent an equal amount on both of them.

By the end of the night, James' Mum is scolding them both for being up so late, and she ushers them to bed. As they head upstairs, the Potter family miss the smile that spreads across Sirius' face. He clambers into his warm, comfortable bed and wonders if they realize what they've done for him. They have given him a life – one full of love – and the bond he has with this one is stronger than any family relationship he has ever known.

At last, he has found a family. He is finally home.

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Reviews are always appreciated.


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